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if, on your way to the world
dear friend you find yourself shuffling your feet-- find the old dark brushstrokes returning, returning the bay of lost dogs, returning the steel shiver of the empty hand, do not be afraid there is always the sea and its rolling silver lamps, the sea and its hoops of horses the sea and its cargo of green hearts. even in the center of the earth it is singing to you; its salt fingernails run the drums of your vertebrae and you are not dead only sleeping. even here, the sea, the sea presses its bellies against the weary stones; you feel it kick up against your breasts like that time before sunset on the dunes when your shadow grew long, long so long it could reach around the earth's hips and find your own hands again tugging you again, again into the sea, the sea where you always return to yourself your body a wet flame your spirit a sheer needle of sun-fire. all rest. let all things
stop: the train, its wheels frozen upon the track the conductor pulling off his cap to scratch his bald head, the passengers wondering is this my place? where is the color of my home? the clouds locked in the sky, so still you could unravel one woolly thread by woolly thread, each drop of rain dangling like an earring, all the plants with their invisible mouths open. your thoughts, too, thudding like a gigantic clock all this time suddenly cease. don't panic. find the zipper. step a toe then your whole foot out of yourself. no one but your frowns will miss you. the ocean is hard as crystal, the fish sleepy in their deep beds. walk out wearing your best Jesus face. rest here, something says; come here anytime you like. some days you find yourself
wrestling mannequins, strangling railings burying your head in crates of nails cursing the thud of your own sad heart. please stop. there is no time like now to duck under the backyard maple & count the veins on its always-spread palms, to cup your hands in the water of someone's voice, to indulge deep in the molasses of the very air. it's all a matter of perspective; darkness is only visible when your head is full as a box of old newspaper. burn the news. end this war. let the black script cease. feel the sun hollow you out & fill you with its innumerable flaming lanterns.
Friend, keep breathing even if you are underwater. the sea is cruel only to those with clenched jaws and fists. release the anchor. place your weeping cheek upon the pillowed waves. the sea needs your tears in order to go on being its salty self, so don't hold back. your suffering is a gift to this world a current upon which both fish and dreams travel. Welcome to my poetry weblog. This is my first entry on my new website! I'll be posting poems to this page periodically as well as sharing notifications and other material. I hope you like what you read here. Please feel welcomed to comment, but be polite--life is too short to be mean!
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
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Unless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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